


All my friends are heathens

by blackkat



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Suicide Squad, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Dark Humor, Everyone is Terrifying, First Meetings, Love at First Chokehold, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 15:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11129643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “Oh?” Orochimaru asks sweetly, trying to judge the room they're in. Some sort of military headquarters, predictably. “They let me keep my doctorates? How kind. But I assume this wasn’t a test of how many low-level guards I could put in the morgue—”“Three,” the younger soldier standing at Danzō’s shoulder cuts in, righteous anger darkening his features. “Three in the morgue, six in the hospital.”“Oh my, you caught me on an off day.” Orochimaru gives the young man his best flirtatious smirk. “Come back tomorrow and I promise, I’ll at least double both counts.”(Or, that Suicide Squad!AU no one asked for and no one wanted, but I wrote anyway. I'm not sorry.)





	All my friends are heathens

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended as a drabble but managed to escape me, so I'm setting it loose before it gets any longer, oops.

The sound of the heavy doors all around the room unbolting is warning enough, and Orochimaru glances up from a bored study of his nails to smirk at the heavily armed men swarming around his cell.

“Can I take this to mean my request for lab time has been approved?” he asks lightly.

The main guard steps up to the door of the cell, almost touching the bars, and Orochimaru doesn’t let his eyes narrow, though he thinks about it. The little white-haired rat is only brave when he’s got a dozen other men behind him, after all, and Orochimaru’s not the type to take that well. He has _standards_.

“Why don’t you come down from there and we can talk about it?” Mizuki suggests, an edge of malice beneath the otherwise pleasant suggestion.

It’s not actually a choice at all. Orochimaru has long since discovered that he can either come down or they’ll come in and get him, and while the idea of how many of them he’d be able to kill if they do is appealing, he’s already had more of his creature comforts taken away than he cares for.

Still, he makes them wait as he very obviously considers the request, because even trapped in this maddening little cell, when he does things, it’s entirely because _he_ wishes to. Slowly, deliberately, he unwinds himself from his precarious perch near the roof of the metal box, hooks a foot in the sheet he repurposed as an aerial perch, and drops down with an agile flip.

“Dare I hope that this will end in a civil discussion?” he asks, brushing his hair back and casting Mizuki a smirk that says he knows it won't. “They couldn’t have sent a runt like you for anything else, could they?”

The expression on Mizuki’s face goes ugly, and he steps back, making a sharp gesture at the men around him. “Open the door. Restrain him.”

Well. Maybe Orochimaru will get to kill a few of them after all.

Not enough of them. Not _nearly_ enough to make up for being trapped in here like some sort of wild animal, and Mizuki stays too far back for him to reach, but—

It’s a start. Anything’s a start.

 

“Danzō,” he says disdainfully, when the monitor in front of the chair he’s strapped to brightens to show the general. “I should have known this would have your filthy fingerprints all over it.”

“Doctor,” Danzō acknowledges, unaffected by the words. There's a tall, muscular young man with orange hair at his shoulder, sharp, dark eyes watching Orochimaru warily. He looks…tense, Orochimaru thinks idly. Driven. Like he’s lost something.

How boring.

“Oh?” Orochimaru asks sweetly, trying to judge the room they're in. Some sort of military headquarters, predictably. “They let me keep my doctorates? How kind. But I assume this wasn’t a test of how many low-level guards I could put in the morgue—”

“Three,” the younger soldier standing at Danzō’s shoulder cuts in, righteous anger darkening his features. “Three in the morgue, six in the hospital.”

“Oh my, you caught me on an off day.” Orochimaru gives the young man his best flirtatious smirk. “Come back tomorrow and I promise, I’ll at least double both counts.”

“Colonel,” Danzō interrupts, putting a hand in front of the man’s chest as he goes to step forward, eyes flashing. “Yahiko. The doctor is just as skilled at psychology as he is murder. Something to keep in mind.”

“Not that you make it _difficult_ ,” Orochimaru says, entirely bored, and if his hands weren’t wrapped in cuffs and chains he’d inspect his fingernails again. He hasn’t gotten a manicure in _months_. He does glance up through his lashes at the colonel, far too righteous to be acting as Danzō’s right hand and therefore obviously another cat’s-paw in whatever game Danzō’s playing this time. “Now, the reason I'm here? I have mysteries of the universe to contemplate, if we’re through.”

“We’re not.” Danzō sounds as grim as ever. “Doctor, how would you like to lighten your sentence?”

Orochimaru goes still, narrowing his eyes at the general, and then chuckles, low and amused. “ _Lighten_ it? After multiple life sentences? Are you going to take a few days off for good behavior? A week for every guard I don’t kill?”

“Missions,” Yahiko cuts in, glaring at him. “Missions with slim chances of survival, against heavy odds, requiring individuals with unique abilities and skillsets.”

“Ah,” Orochimaru says, in mock-enlightenment. “You want your own little squad of expendables with superpowers. How practical.”

The young colonel is undeterred. “Missions will be assessed regarding difficulty and danger, and your sentences shorted accordingly.”

“I have conditions,” Orochimaru retorts. “Are you prepared to meet them?”

But Danzō is watching him closely, a spark of something like triumph on his craggy old face. “Well?” he demands, and that whip-crack old voice, still so unfortunately familiar, makes Orochimaru hiss, lunging forward against his restraints.

“ _What do you think_?” he snarls, and has the great pleasure of seeing Yahiko take an aborted step back.

Danzō inclines his head, turning away. “He’ll do it,” he says, either to Yahiko or someone off-screen. “Take him for the surgery.”

More guards push through the doorway, and Orochimaru hisses furiously at them.

On another note, he’s getting _very_ tired of being tazed.

“I,” someone says very close to him, “am getting a little tired of being tazed.”

A man after his own heart, Orochimaru thinks a little blearily, forcing his eyes open and pushing to sit up. The aftereffects of anesthesia, he judges, flexing his fingers to assess motor skills. No hindrance that he can identify, so he grips the side of the narrow bunk and shifts his weight sharply, flipping over the side and dropping to the ground in a crouch.

There's a short, sharp sound of surprise, movement so fast it almost blurs, and Orochimaru dodges on instinct, twisting to the side. A fist skims past him, and Orochimaru bends around it, grabs the man’s wrist and twists with it. He hooks a leg over the forearm, uses it as leverage as he flips over and drags down. With a muffled grunt, the attacker is catapulted right over his shoulder, and Orochimaru twists bonelessly, getting on top in one solid roll and pinning the man to the concrete floor.

“Well now,” the man says mildly, arching a brow at him from beneath shaggy white hair. He doesn’t see at all fazed by the arm Orochimaru has locked beneath his jaw, or the way Orochimaru is sprawled over him, pinning his limbs. “That’s quite a way to say hello.”

Orochimaru raises a brow right back. “A little jumpy, are we?” he asks, just barely above a purr, and leans forward into the white-haired man’s space. “I could almost take offence.”

Most people—men especially—flinch back from his flirtation. This man simply laughs, and gives him a grin that just barely flashes teeth with canines like a wolf’s. “If it makes you feel better, you're definitely the prettiest person I've ever had put me in a chokehold.”

Well. Orochimaru decides he can allow himself to be flattered, and offers the man a sly smile and a glance from beneath his lashes. “That does indeed.” Slightly wary of retaliation, he loosens his hold, then slips off the man, rising to his feet. A pause to consider, and he offers the man a hand up. “Orochimaru.”

“Sakumo,” the man answers in kind, and doesn’t hesitate to take his hand, letting Orochimaru pull him to his feet.

There are callouses on his hands, faded but still defined, and Orochimaru knows them well. “Weaponry expert?” he asks, turning Sakumo's hand over to study his fingers.

Sakumo allows it without any thought of protest. “Mercenary,” he confirms. “And you’d be a martial arts expert?”

“Scientist,” Orochimaru corrects, smirking at the surprise it gets him. “And psychologist. But…I dabble.”

“Very well, at that.” The flirtatious admiration in Sakumo's smile is completely genuine, and it’s a bit of a surprise. Orochimaru’s always found that flirting is a perfect way to throw people off balance, at least coming from him, but most people don’t even try to flirt _back_.

Sakumo's fingers tighten around his, making him glance up, and the mercenary leans in with a charming smile. Too low for a microphone to catch, he murmurs, “They put a bomb in your head as well?”

“Of course they did.” Orochimaru smirks at him, stepping close to run his finger lightly down Sakumo's sternum. “Simple enough to block the signal if we can get to the right location. The removal is easy enough, after that. I suppose two heads are better than one, for that sort of thing.”

Dark grey eyes narrow faintly, then crinkle into a smile that shows teeth. “It might take some doing, with how many soldiers they’ll have on us.”

“There will be at least a few more members to our little suicide squad,” Orochimaru informs him. “They had operating stations set up for two others that I saw, and if you're already awake, your operation was before mine. And besides, we might end up with a bit of…outside assistance.”

He has hope, faintly. Tsunade and Jiraiya are still out there, uncaptured—had these buffoons managed to take them, surely _one_ of them would have come by to gloat by now. If there's one thing about Tsunade and Jiraiya that can always be trusted in, it’s their loyalty, and the three of them have always been a team from the first day they met. Orochimaru might be a prisoner, but not forever. Not for long, hopefully.

If Anko and Kabuto had managed to escape, Orochimaru thinks wryly, listening to the faint sounds of booted feet approaching, their imprisonment wouldn’t even be a factor. But like Tsunade and Jiraiya, Anko is unendingly devoted, and for all that Kabuto's sense of self-preservation is very strong, he tends to follow her lead all too often. They’d rushed in, trying to save him, and wound up captured as well.

Not easily, at least, Orochimaru consoles himself. Never, ever easily.

As if summoned by the thought, the door at the end of the nearly-empty barracks swings open, and four large soldiers drag a writhing, cursing figure in. She twists in their grasp, biting and snarling like a trapped animal, and there's more than one yelp as they wrestle her towards a bunk.

Ah, Orochimaru thinks with fond amusement. Anko’s always had a very high tolerance to anesthetic. It’s lovely in situations like this.

“Anko, my dear,” he says, slipping past a tense and watchful Sakumo as the soldiers hurl her onto one of the cots.

In a heartbeat, Anko is on her feet and darting around her captors. “Sensei!” she cries, and an instant later a hundred pounds of young woman hits Orochimaru around the waist. Only long practice keeps him on his feet, but he puts his hand down, stroking loose violet hair fondly.

“Ah, they even took your hair clip,” he laments.

Anko makes a sound of incandescent rage. She’s always been so cute. “Sensei, it was the one you gave me. I'm so sorry I lost it!”

“Hush, my dear. No use crying about things that are past.” Orochimaru tilts her chin up, giving her a sly smile. “We’ll always be a family, no matter what.”

Comprehension clicks in her eyes immediately, and she grins back, all teeth. “They were bringing Kabuto in as they took me out,” she tells him, and leans around to offer Sakumo a cheerful wave. “Hi! I'm Anko! Nice to meet you!”

“Hello, Anko,” Sakumo returns, faintly bemused but still full of good humor. “I'm Sakumo. It’s a pleasure.” Casting a glance at Orochimaru, he arches a brow, clearly requesting an answer.

“My student,” Orochimaru answers lightly, stepping out of Anko’s hold. She lets him go, even if it is with a pout. “Formerly undergraduate, and now in all things. One of two. How convenient that they’d put us all on the same team.”

“We _are_ the best,” Anko says without a hint of arrogance, more fact that anything else. She grabs the edge of the closest bunk bed, pulling herself up, and perches on the edge. A pause as she tips her head, clearly considering, and then she wrinkles her nose and asks, “Sensei, we can still say that, right? The Yellow Flash caught us, but you were half-drowned and couldn’t use your arms and Kabuto and I were outnumbered. That doesn’t count, does it?”

“I should hope not,” Orochimaru says lightly, though the thread of anger that twists through him is still molten-hot and searing.  He doesn’t look at the scars on his arms, compound breaks that took a maddeningly long time to heal and robbed him of all chances at escape before they were moved to this prison, which has proved…troublingly hard to break out of.

“The Yellow Flash?” Sakumo asks, sinking down on the bare cot, and his expression is still pleasant, but there's a thread of ice beneath the peaceable exterior. “He got you too, did he?”

Orochimaru flicks a glance at Anko to find her looking back, eyes bright with fury, and goes to lean against the edge of the bed she’s chosen. “A commonality, it seems. He’s slightly too good at his job.”

Sakumo's smile is crooked, and his next breath is heavy. “I’ll agree to that.”

Orochimaru doesn’t ask for his story, because if he wants to share it he will. Instead, he glances back at the door, hearing boots approaching again. Anko catches the movement, if not the sound, and draws her legs up under her until she’s perched like a gargoyle, ready to launch herself across the room at a moment’s notice. Laying a hand on her knee, Orochimaru flashes her a look that warns her to show restraint, because their escape will be much more difficult and less satisfying if Anko ends up with half of her skull missing.

“Easy, my dear,” he murmurs, and Anko huffs but subsides, some of the tension sliding out of her muscles. She levels a dark look at the door as it swings open, and Orochimaru tips his head at the sight of two more bodies being carried in. It will be a fairly large team, then. Interesting.

The orange-haired colonel is at the back, expression even grimmer than before as he watches his squad lay Kabuto and the unfamiliar man on the remaining beds. His dark eyes flicker up to meet Orochimaru’s cool stare, then slide onwards to Sakumo's. “There's a mission,” he says. “As soon as you're all awake you’ll be taken to retrieve your gear. Prepare yourselves.”

Without anything more, he turns on his heel and strides back out. The door falls shut behind the last of the soldiers, and Orochimaru takes a slow breath.

“Well. That didn’t take them long at all,” he says, careful to keep it light and faintly mocking as he pushes away from Anko’s side, going to crouch down next to Kabuto. A check of his pulse reveals it’s steady and unhesitating, and he pulls his hand away without letting his relief show. A glance at the other prisoner doesn’t give him much of a clue to his identity, but the young man is dark-haired and scarred, features twisted in a scowl even in unconsciousness.

“He’s a mercenary too,” Sakumo says unexpectedly from right behind Orochimaru. It takes effort not to twitch, because it’s been a _very_ long time since someone snuck up on him, but Orochimaru manages to control his reaction and simply turns, arching a brow.

Sakumo grins like he saw the flinch anyway and tips his head at the dark-haired man. “I try to keep an eye on the competition. Uchiha Obito. He was a mercenary until he got snatched up during a raid on the organization he was working for.”

“Young,” is Orochimaru’s assessment, because the scarred boy is only a few years older than Anko, and she just recently turned fifteen.

“My son’s age,” Sakumo says, his gaze lingering on the boy, and it sounds like the words escaped them when he didn’t quite mean them to. Then he shakes himself, looking away as his mouth tightens, and rocks back on his heels. “If he’s here, I'm sure he’s just the same as us. Another _individual with unique abilities and skillsets_.”

Orochimaru snorts softly. “The colonel gave you that line as well?” he asks dryly, and when he goes to stand there's suddenly a hand before him, palm-up in clear invitation. Casting an amused glance up at Sakumo's smile, Orochimaru slips his fingers into the man’s and allows Sakumo to pull him gracefully to his feet.

“He did,” Sakumo agrees, and his fingers tighten just slightly around Orochimaru’s before he lets go, digits dragging lightly over the back of Orochimaru’s hand before he steps away.

 _Well, well,_ Orochimaru thinks, and _this_ isn’t boring in the least. _How interesting_.

“Let’s prove the young hero right,” he says slyly, and watches Sakumo's gaze sharpen with interest. “It wouldn’t do to disappoint him, would it?”

Anko giggles, swinging her feet like a harmless little girl as she leans forward, violet hair spilling over her shoulders. “Do you think they're going to take us somewhere _fun_?” she asks brightly.

“Of that,” Orochimaru says dryly, “I have no doubt.”

If Jiraiya and Tsunade know where they are—and they must, they _must_ by now—this is going to be the best chance there is to stage a rescue. Orochimaru just hopes they take advantage of it.

And in the meantime, he thinks, eyeing the curve of Sakumo's wolf-sharp grin, there's no reason at all he can't just…enjoy himself a little.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Coda:
> 
> “I don’t like this,” Yahiko says unhappily.
> 
> Konan glances up from where she’s making origami cranes, though her fingers never stop moving. “Because of the convicts?” she asks dryly.
> 
> Yahiko doesn’t look away from the screen showing their new squad. “We haven’t had a single mission yet, and _this_ is our first one? With Nagato—with the world on the line?”
> 
> “Retrieval mission,” Konan reminds him, though her eyes soften slightly in sympathy.
> 
> Yahiko doesn’t want to think about that, or about Nagato, quiet and kind and softhearted, trying to channel powers he shouldn’t even have for the good of everyone. Pein is a monster, and Nagato is the furthest thing from it. To have this happen, to have Nagato _taken over_ so completely—
> 
> “I know,” he says, and it’s far too rough.
> 
> Konan smiles, rueful and faint, and twists the square of paper between her fingers. A moment later, a shuriken falls to the tabletop, and she says with forced lightness, "Chin up, Yahiko. What's the worst that could happen?"


End file.
